The Master Plan
by Emily Tyler
Summary: Scenes from the Master's life, Utopia to Last of the Time Lords, that didn't get shown.


Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

It was stuck. Well and truly stuck.

He would never be able to get it out of his head.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Again and again, it ran through his head.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

It wasn't as though this was anything new. In fact, it seemed as though it had been stuck in his head all his life. Patiently impossible, of course. Songs got stuck in one's head, true, for days, perhaps, but they left. They must. But he couldn't look back on any time in his life where there hadn't been the undertone, at least. The drumming.

It wasn't really drumming, though. Just a sound. A beat. A theme.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-ta—

"Chan, Professor? Professor, you wished me to get this for you, tho?"

He turned toward his blue assistant. "Yes, thank you, Chan-tho." He took the proffered tool. "Sorry, must have been dozing. Do you happen to remember why I asked you for this?"

"Chan, I am sure you did not tell me, tho."

"Yes, yes, sorry. Ah…" He looked down at the still-dysfunctional footprint engine. "Right! Back to work!"

His assistant grinned. "Chan, we never stopped, tho."

He smiled back. "Chan-tho, if you wish a rest, you have only to say…"

"Chan, it is better to be working than dreaming, tho."

"Right you are! Now let's get this machine operational!"

* * *

He had never told anyone before. About the drumming. He had started calling it that, after his regeneration. How could he have been that foolish, remaining human for so long!? He still cursed that incompetent bug for never saying anything about the fob watch, never even seeing it. He had toyed with the idea of traveling back when that blue monster was young, killing the "conglomeration" on that blackened planet. Of course, the Doctor had made that impossible, fusing the TARDIS to now and the end of everything.

The Doctor.

His rival would pay, soon enough. Well, speaking relatively. The Doctor would have a much shorter wait than he.

He had already achieved the first victories of his master plan. Master plan, that was clever, he should remember that. He had published his papers, influenced the companies needed, even gotten a human partner. Well, he said partner, he meant distraction. The blonde woman had no idea who he truly was, at least not yet. She loved his illusion of clever lawyer, rising through the ranks. She had told him he could even be prime minister someday. That was the plan. He smiled as he looked at the paper he held. Production was ahead of schedule. They were going to test the network today, long before he had expected it done. Humans were farther ahead in this century than he thought.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down at his free hand. He hadn't even been _thinking_ about those damned drums, yet here they were, again! He shoved the papers off his desk, then leaned back, fingers to temples. It would never leave him alone. Even at his most gleeful, as everything went according to plan, it was there, taunting him.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

Now this was too much. This world would not mock him, drumming in time with his head. He jumped up, yanked the door open.

"Mr. Saxon, here are the reports you—"

"Why did you do that?"

The intern was taken aback. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"The tapping! Four times, on my door, why?"

"I—I had the papers you asked for, sir, and was just brining them to you—"

"But why four?! Four times, you tapped, in succession—" He rapped on the doorway to prove his point. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

"I—I don't know, sir. I usually just knock, I don't think about how many—"

He pushed the boy aside, storming down the hall. His secretary was on the phone, boredly affirming some matter. She began to tap, impatiently. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Another intern was typing at his computer, four letters at a time. Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click.

He put his hands to his ears, trying to keep from hearing the tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap—

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

He whirled and grabbed the unfortunate assistant trying to get his attention. "What!"

"Um, sir, I just wanted to tell you, the first trial of the Archangel network is online."

* * *

One hundred days. One hundred days as supreme ruler of this planet. His genius, coupled with the raw material of the Toclafane, made his takeover oh-so-easy. Today, he'd play track nine for his opening.

"What would you think if I sang out of tune/Would you stand up and walk out on me?..."

The familiar strains of the Beatles floated around the room. He spun and danced across the floor, not even seeing his wife or his tea-maid.

"'Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!' Especially you, Doctor!" He turned to the old man slumped in a wheelchair. "Why, without your little intervention with Harriet Jones, Prime Minister, I would have never taken this world so easily!" He loved taunting the Doctor. So high and mighty, saving the Earth over and over, just for him. It was touching, almost.

"I have one thing to say to you."

"Oh, give it up, Doctor. You've been repeating that ever since I abducted you. And don't think I can't see what's under that tray, Miss Jones," as he turned towards the servant girl, wagging his finger. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with guns?"

"Who's playing?" the girl snapped as she whirled. "I'll shoot you dead right now!"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, Miss Jones, we wouldn't want any kind of accident, would we?" He pulled his laser screwdriver from his jacket. "Now be a good girl and give Lucy the gun." He paused. "Oh, and how is your mother, these days?"

The girl paled, beaten again. "Do you need anybody…" Perfect timing for Ringo, there. That was their problem, wasn't it? They all needed someone. Him, of course, he didn't need anyone. He could kill his wife right now, without hesitation. And sleep soundly afterward.

The song ended as he flopped into his chair at the head of the table. "Ah, so much to do, so much to do!" He began scanning the computer screens as a waltz began to play. Marvelous thing, computers. Could almost believe some of them were Galifreyan, they were so good. The waltz was catchy. There were only notes on one-and-two-and, a one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four—

"No." He swiveled, facing the decrepit Doctor again. "No changing the songs." His anger was evident.

The old man looked up. "There's no music playing."

* * *

She had shot him. Lucy had shot him. Why? She was so complacent, so obedient. She would never have the nerve to shoot him. Where had she even gotten the gun?

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Even now, dying, that damned drumming would not cease. It drowned out the words of the Doctor. Sentimental fool, to the end. How many times had that rival Time Lord tried to kill him, and now the fool was begging for him to live. Never. Not in ridicule. Not being held, captive, like a dumb beast in a cage. He'd rather die.

His limbs went limp. His hearts slowed.

Thump-thump thump-thump. Thump-thump thump-thump. Maybe that's where it came from. The drums. They were him.

Thump-thump thump-

* * *

It was stuck. Well and truly stuck. That tune, that beat, that drumming. Ever since she took his ring.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

It never left her head. Maybe it never would.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.


End file.
